In this compressed artistry of moment
I receive spalls of fire off your skin
condescending slant of your head
gurgle stories of the forced confession
of yester night….. of serfdom to your flesh
In this Picasso I am just a curved enfeebled line
And you… its canvass, its colour its theme
The latent lurking dream
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ah, this is beautiful! Such a loving appreciation for one whose beauty is larger than life, and you are but a small part of that grande composition. If one is to be a slave, then this is the way to be one! You have managed to paint a passionate portrait with just two small verses. Well done! Linda ; -)